CHAPTER I.

[Picture: The Monomaniac] The homeward passage from New Zealand is made via Cape Horn, and as westerly winds prevail all over the South Pacific, the craft bound back to the States has everything in her favor. Five weeks had elapsed since the thousand-ton bark _Western Belle_ sailed from Auckland and Wellington for Boston, and on this June morning she was in the South Atlantic, steering a north-easterly course.

It was evidently mid-day, for the captain and mate were squinting at the sun through their sextants; while a young lady stood near, wondering, as she had often done before, how it was possible for such queer-looking instruments to aid in determining their exact position upon so vast an expanse of water.

She was slightly above the medium height, and decidedly pretty, with a fine color in her cheeks. The sun’s rays and ocean’s breezes had tanned her fair skin until, as she expressed it, “her dearest friends couldn’t have told her from a South Sea Islander.” A heavy blue flannel dress, sailor blouse, jaunty cap kept in place by a long pin, and rubber-soled tennis shoes—the finest things in the world to keep one’s footing in a heavy, sea—completed the picture; and there you have Miss Laura Blake.

“What would become of us, Captain, if you and Mr. Bohlman were to fall overboard, or otherwise disappear from the scene? It never occurred to me before, but there would be no one left to bring us into port. Mr. Freeman knows nothing about taking sights.”

Miss Blake said this half in jest, half in earnest. The captain regarded it as a good joke.

“No, the second mate has never used a sextant, I believe, though he could doubtless navigate the bark for some time by dead reckoning. Meanwhile, my dear young lady, you and Mrs. Evans could study my Epitome, and learn to take the sun yourselves.”

The idea of her aunt “taking the sun” caused a quick smile to overspread Miss Laura’s features.

“I’m afraid the _Western Belle_ would soon run ashore, or go to the bottom, if we women undertook to sail her,” she replied. “As the widow of a sea-captain, Aunt Sarah believes she knows all about ships, but I fear it would require even more than her nautical knowledge to bring us into port.”

Captain Maxwell shared this opinion, but he was far too gallant a man to say so.

“Mrs. Evans certainly learned a great deal during the few voyages she made with her husband, and with your assistance, Miss Blake, there is no telling what you might not be able to accomplish. However, both Mr. Bohlman and I are not liable to fall overboard, so you will probably have no chance to distinguish yourselves as navigators.”

Though considerably past sixty, and with a head of snowy white hair, no one ever thought of Captain Maxwell as elderly. His dark eyes still shown with the fire of thirty, and every motion of the erect, military figure was surprisingly quick and agile. In ordinary conversation, his words were spoken with an effective deliberation that is none too common now-a-days, while a fine courtly air—“old fashioned” some people called it—lent additional dignity to his presence.

Mrs. Evans appeared at this moment emerging from the companionway, and Captain Maxwell hastened to place a chair for the widow of his old friend.

“Isn’t it a beautiful day, Captain?” the lady exclaimed. “I cannot recall a more delightful morning.”

“I agree with you, madam; it certainly is a fine day, although, as your niece says, a trifle cool perhaps.”

“Possibly. But we are approaching the Line, Laura, and it will become warmer as the bark sails north. For my part, I think this bracing air delightful, and have not regretted returning to Boston in this manner rather than by steamer to San Francisco. It reminds me of the two voyages I made with the late Captain Evans.”

The widow’s good-natured face beamed with amiability and placid content. She was a comely matron, and though not endowed with a great amount of intellect, its absence was in a measure supplied by the charms of a thoroughly feminine and womanly nature.

The ladies had been visiting relatives in Sydney, and had expected to return to America by the Oceanic Liner _Monowai_. Happening to meet Captain Maxwell on the street one day, he had jokingly proposed that they take passage with him to Boston. Mrs. Evans had known him well in past years, and she instantly regarded the plan with favor. Her niece, however, knew no more of sailing vessels than does the average landsman, who judges all craft of this description by the coasting schooners which he has casually noticed, and had a vague idea that it was flying in the face of Providence to go anywhere in one. Yielding to the joint entreaties of her aunt and Captain Maxwell, and considerably reassured by a view of the _Western Belle_, she at length consented, and had so far enjoyed the novelty of the trip exceedingly.

“Neither do I regret it, Aunt,” she said, “although it would be agreeable to know about what time we may expect to reach Boston. That is the one drawback to going anywhere on a sailing vessel—you can’t tell how long the voyage may last.”

“The time required to go from New Zealand back to the States does not vary much,” the captain answered, “and I think I can promise you, Miss Blake, that the trip will not greatly exceed ninety days. We have made a good run nearly every day so far, and ought to pick up the southeast trades next week.”

“Even if the voyage should require four months, it would be nothing dreadful, Laura. We seamen do not mind a few days more or less, do we, Captain?” said the widow.

Carl Bohlman, the portly mate, seemed a little surprised at this reckless disregard of time, while Captain Maxwell stroked his beard and looked rather doubtful.

“Perhaps not, madam. Your wide experience enables you to judge of such matters. I remember one time, though, when your late husband had the _Davy Crockett_, and I commanded the _Sunrise_, we were racing from Hong Kong to New York; and I can assure you that every minute and every hour were of the utmost importance. We both passed St. Helena on the fifty-eighth day out, but the _Sunrise_ was beaten on the home stretch by twenty-four hours.”

“How exciting!” exclaimed Mrs. Evans. “Think of it—racing clear around the world! That was before I met my husband, but I have often heard him mention the affair.”

“It must be dangerous, Aunt. We have the pretty Cape pigeons to race with, which satisfies me perfectly. How sorry I shall be when we see the last of them.”

“You are timid, Laura, which is excusable in one of your limited experience. You have crossed the Atlantic twice, but running over from New York to Liverpool is a mere bagatelle. Crossing the Pacific is something, to be sure; but when you have doubled both Capes, and crossed the Line six times—well, then you can lay claim to being a sailor, and will not be easily alarmed.”

The widow glanced from one to the other and settled back in her chair with pardonable pride, after giving this account of her achievements. She was rewarded with a bow from Captain Maxwell, who then said:

“To change the subject, Mrs. Evans, you must have been very busy this morning. Unless I am mistaken, we have been deprived of your society since breakfast.”

“That is true, Captain. I have been putting the finishing touches on that rug, which I consider quite an addition to the cabin furniture. After that, I wrote for some time—and ah! that reminds me. I feel certain that the fresh-water tank in the bathroom has again been filled with salt water. While endeavoring to remove an ink-stain from my fingers, I found that the soap made no impression. That careless boy seems unable to remember which tank is for fresh water, and which for salt.”

The captain frowned.

“This is the second time since leaving port that Dick has made the same mistake. When I have worked out my sights, the matter shall be attended to.”

“That Dick Lewis needs a rope’s end,” observed the mate, as soon as Captain Maxwell had gone below, “and if the captain would let me, I’d give it to him.”

“There is something peculiar about that boy,” said Miss Blake. “Sometimes I think his mind is not quite right. You know what a mania he seems to have for fire-works, Aunt. We were not a week out before he was found to have matches and fire-crackers concealed in the forecastle. Then one afternoon not long ago he was discovered in the lazarette, although no one had sent him there.”

“That’s so, miss; and the captain thought Dick might have been fooling with the signal-lights and rockets. I hardly think that, though. Most likely he was after the eatables.”

“You can see, Laura, what sort of sailors the future generation of captains will have to contend with. Do you suppose such things ever happened on my husband’s ship? Fresh and salt water mixed together, matches and fire-works in the fo’k’sl, rockets and signals in the lazarette? Why, it is awful to think of!” And the widow shook her head, as she reflected on this extraordinary state of affairs.

“That boy in the second mate’s watch is worth a dozen of this one of mine,” Bohlman observed. “Freeman predicted he would be the day we divided up the watches, and he was about right. Don’t tell him I think so, though.”

The second mate had just come on deck, and Miss Blake said mischievously: “I shall tell Mr. Freeman what you said unless you promise to rig up a bo’s’un’s chair this afternoon, and hoist me up one of the masts.”

“I’ll do it, miss, if you say so,” replied Bohlman, “though you got scared the other time before you were a quarter of the way up.”

“Laura, I will not allow such a thing again. What would you think if I were to go aloft and haul over a buntline?”

“I should laugh, Aunt; I know I should,” and Miss Laura did laugh aloud, while the mate turned away to avoid showing his merriment at the comical idea of the widow overhauling buntlines.

“But really, Aunt, there is no danger in it, and Mrs. Brassey, in ‘Around the World in the Yacht _Sunbeam_,’ speaks of being drawn clear up to the mast-head in a bo’s’un’s chair. It is said, also, that Bernhardt climbed the rigging of a steamer one day when on her way to Australia.”

“Genius is always eccentric, my dear, and may do anything with impunity. But there—dinner is served. Let us go.”

One could not pass through the bark’s comfortable cabin without knowing that women were on board. The very arrangement of the chairs showed it. No matter how neat and tasteful a man may be—and Captain Maxwell was both—he can seldom give to a room or dwelling that indescribable air of home-like comfort and domesticity that a clever woman finds it so easy to impart. There was something cheerful in the appearance of the widow’s open work-box, with its pretty blue lining, and an anchor worked on the inside cover,—for Mrs. Evans affected everything nautical,—while a large rug or mat made of spun-yarn and sennit bore witness to her skill. The vessel’s name was neatly worked in the center. Several water-color paintings by Miss Laura ornamented the walls, and a globe of goldfish swung from the ceiling. An upright piano occupied the space between two doors. There was nothing especially elegant or luxurious, as the bark had never been intended for a passenger vessel, but everything was very pleasant and comfortable. The ladies had separate state-rooms, each of which contained but one berth, and was considerably larger than the average state-room on a passenger steamer.

After dinner, Captain Maxwell sent for Dick Lewis to come to the quarter-deck. This boy belonged to the mate’s watch, which was now off duty. He had not turned in, however, but could be seen with two others of the crew, washing his clothes in the lee scuppers.

It had rained hard the night before, and many of the hands availed themselves of the chance to catch the water for laundry purposes. Two lines were stretched from a starboard backstay to one on the port side, on which were hung shirts of various colors and patterns, patched overalls, towels, socks that had never been mates, and various other articles of apparel.

Dick came aft presently, and stood before the captain; a lanky, unprepossessing youth of sixteen or seventeen. A carroty head of hair, low forehead, white eyebrows and lashes, very pale complexion, and keen blue eyes which constantly shifted about—these were the most noticeable points of his appearance.

“Dick,” said Captain Maxwell, “for the second time within two weeks, you have put salt water in the fresh water tank. This must not happen again.”

“I must have put the funnel in the wrong hole, sir,” said Dick, not appearing much abashed.

“That is evident. Get a marline-spike from the second mate and then go out on the end of the jib-boom. Stay there and pound the rust off the chains until three bells strike. That may help you to remember. Go forward.”

The captain told Mr. Freeman what Dick was to do, and then went below for his nap. Out on the jib-boom, Dick performed his allotted task. What was passing in the boy’s mind, it would be hard to tell from the expression of his face. Resentment against Captain Maxwell? Scarcely. He seemed rather to be studying over some project. Now his lips moved, as though talking to himself. Then would follow a low chuckle, as of satisfaction at solving some intricate problem. At such moments, his knitted brows became smooth, and the chains were pounded with a vigor that seemed to give a kind of pleasure to the worker. Once or twice his revery was disturbed by a fancied footstep, and he furtively glanced around to see if anyone was watching.

Three bells had struck some little time before a hail from the deck attracted Dick’s attention.

“Jib-boom, there!”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

“Time’s up, Dick. You must like to pound chains.” It was the second mate who spoke.

Dick felt for the foot-ropes, and remembering Mr. Freeman’s injunction not to let the marline-spike go overboard, he slung it round his neck, and made his way to the deck.

“Where are your ears, Dick?”

“On my head, sir.”

“No impudence, you lubber! Next time I’ll let you work till we make port. Hand over that marline-spike.”

“Yes, sir. Will you please tell me something, Mr. Freeman?”

“Maybe so, if I can. The mate says I don’t know anything.”

“I want to know, sir, how you send off those signal-lights, what I was forbid to touch. Are they like Roman candles?”

Freeman took hold of the youth’s arm, and said sternly, “Dick Lewis, don’t you ever think of those things. Why, d— it, you’re as crazy as a loon about fire-works! If you’ve got any more stowed away in the fo’k’sl, it’ll go hard with you. I’ve got nothing against you, Dick, but if I hear any more talk like this, it’s my duty to report to the captain. You’ll soon be in irons, at this rate.”

“I was only fooling, sir. Please don’t give me away.”

“’Vast talking, and go below. The watch is half over now.”

Dick disappeared into the forecastle, and Freeman meditated for some time over the possible meaning of the boy’s peculiar talk.

“He’ll bear watching,” he mused. “I’d better tell Bohlman not to send him into the lazarette, on any account. No, I won’t, either; the Dutchman’s too d—d arrogant, and thinks he knows it all. I’d only be told to mind my own business.”

Freeman had just reached this decision in regard to Dick, when a Greek sailor called Asso approached, and asked for more bath-brick.

The officer went to see how his watch were getting on with their job of cleaning the paint-work on the deck-houses, and found that buckets of water, swabs, and bath-bricks, were being used to such purpose that the white paint was rapidly assuming the appearance of new-fallen snow. Then there was a section of wire cable to be spliced, and other work to be seen to. Thus the afternoon passed, and Dick’s talk about the signals was banished from the second mate’s mind by the various duties of the hour.